There's Always That One Weak Person Who's Not Down With Murder
by chaiteadreams
Summary: HTGAWM drabbles (Mostly Miconnor)
1. Chapter 1

_**I accept prompts **_

* * *

Her voice over the phone sounds muffled when he answers after the third ring; reaching over Oliver's fully clothed body to reach his shrill phone.

"It's real isn't it?" Michaela asks in that quiet voice that he hates because it's not her. That meek, weak girl. That's why he teases her, raises his voice at her. Pushes her. He wants her to unleash the fire and brimstone unto him like she always does when her neutral evil troupe is pushed to a point where it's a bit less neutral and a lot more evil.

Closer to her regular self.

"Michaela," He hisses as he stands and moves into the living room so Oliver who had moved positions in his sleep; making sounds that showed how displeased he was to have his beauty sleep interrupted, wouldn't overhear. "Don't talk about this. Nothing happened. We were at the Bonfire all night and we had a great time and that's our alibi and we're sticking to it. Lie to everyone, your parents, your priest… Lie to yourself… maybe one day you'll believe it."

"Connor-"

He hangs up on her when Oliver calls out to him, an action he'll probably regret later when she's haggard and stumbles in tired to class, her usual 'prom queen' persona out of place but Oliver's voice overlaps Michaela's and he's tired.

Michaela's voice makes him upset, reminding him of how much of a possibility it is that he may go to _jail_

_Do you know what they do to guys like him in jail?_

"Are you feeling better?" The soothing tones make him feel anxious and he regrets hanging up sooner rather than later, Michaela's neediness forces him to feel strong for her sake but Oliver makes him feel- _weak?_

"I have to go," Connor says, gathering his things and bolting out of the door before Oliver can protest. He realizes he hasn't looked at Oliver since he got off of the phone with Michaela.

And there's where he goes. To Michaela's.

Because after everything the four of them only have each other. She opens the door after his eighth rap on the door.

He counted.

She looks a lot better than he expected, dressed in a pair of pajama shorts and spaghetti strap top. Her hair is tamed but her eyes are not.

Relief is what fills them when she sees him and she gnaws the inside of her cheek and looks down at her painted toes.

"I'm sorry," He says sincerely and she hugs him on whim. It's awkward because she's not a hugging person and he isn't either- not really.

Michaela only reaches up to his shoulder without heels on

They somehow fit together, hugging and sharing body heat and silence until her neighbor opens their door and catches them in their embrace.

They jump apart and the woman gives them a weird look. Probably like she knows.

"I'm sorry," He repeats when she pulls him inside and closes the door. "Where's in this together and -"

His voice breaks. "I'm sorry."


	2. It may not be hell

_**It may not be hell (but I'm scared it might be)**_

Michaela Pratt had always been a precarious child, raised to the age of seven by her grandmother, Joanna-Mae until the headstrong, hard-working old woman had a stroke in her sleep and Michaela was left with no family and nowhere to go.

She guess she had been lucky; adopted by a lower middle class polyglot missionary couple even though she had thought her chances low because everyone only wanted babies. Her adopted parents were nice enough, religiously fervorous and partly nomadic. Michaela prayed because it was expected of her but she had always been skeptical of an old guy in the sky who smited people and sent them to hell if they were bad. It seemed too much like a fairytale to be true, but she wore her crucifix around her neck and out of habit said grace over her meals - even when she was alone- ,she didn't lash out and resent her parents, didn't disobey them, got consistently good grades and tried not to be a burden on them.

She had lived in over 8 different countries until she was about 16 and her parents adopted 4 year old twins whose parents died in a car accident - and they settled down.

Michaela Pratt was more fortunate than most, obedient, eager to please, driven and ruthless (when she had to be) and all she wanted to do was be a successful lawyer and live a white picket fence life. Marry her future politician boyfriend and have 2.5 kids and maybe a dog.

"Well that's a lovely dress Michaela," Sam's voice says shattering her walk down memory lane and when she clicks the door to her closet shut, he's casually leaning against her furniture; appraising her.

Michaela doesn't know why she's imagining Sam, why he persists to follow her throughout her everyday life; second guessing her actions and keeping her up with polite albeit useless chatter.

She hadn't known Sam Keating well. They had probably exchanged 4 sentences between themselves; unavoidable since she worked in his house and she always heard an echo of her biological grandmother in her head "Now, don't be rude chile," compelling her to greet her boss' husband.

The dark skinned beauty doesn't know why he's being nice to her, she wants her mental apparition to scream and yell at her and to test violence on her tender skin. But ghost Sam does no such thing; he's cordial and his knack for seeing beyond unnerves her. It makes her feel a clawing guilt that threatens to envelop her and break her.

Because just maybe he wasn't the monster Michaela saw him to be. He was someone's brother, son, cousin.

He persists and persists and she feels like she's going crazy. This maybe her own personal hell.

The urge to confess is intensifying and her urge to talk to someone is pitiful.

_Connor_ her mind supplies and a bitter smile twists her mouth; it's better when he's around because Sam isn't. She eyes her phone and sighs. Connor and her were not friends in any sense of the word, he was her competitor, her rival. The person she got satisfaction in one upping.

But- if she were to be honest - he was the other weak link. And maybe- just maybe- she could help him stay strong and shut up just as much as he could help her.

Michaela swallows her pride; it's bitter going down and she almost second guesses herself until she sees Sam's smiling, serene face in front of her.

Connor answers on the third ring and she stays silent on her end. A few moments pass and she still doesn't find the words to say and he saves her the trouble.

"I have outlines for Tort that you may want, I can share if you pass up those contract outlines you've been hoarding."

Michaela scoffs and shakes her head, a tiny smile tugging at her lips.

"I can be over in 10 minutes if you agree to my terms and conditions,"

"If we're sharing outlines, bring coffee. I like mine-"

"Black with two sugars; got it. I'll be over in 15."

He hangs up on her without waiting for her reply and she smiles.

* * *

**AN: _I told you guys that I accept prompts but I only received suggestions, which is doable but I've been fighting a writer's block and prompts would be much appreciated. Anything you guys would like to read, please pm me._**

**_I already have most of the next chapter finished so it should be up either in a few hours or tomorrow_**

**_Please review _**

**_-Nica_**


	3. Will you be my anything?

**I was supposed to upload this since Monday. :c My bad**

* * *

_**Will you be my everything (my anything)**_

He shouldn't know that she whimpers in her sleep and she shouldn't know that he's picky with his food. He takes his eggs scrambled but the whites and yolk separate. They've observed each other, because if they focus on each other, they won't have to focus on themselves.

It's surprising that the two people who'd do almost anything to accomplish their goals, no matter how underhanded, were the weakest links. They were doing it; they were getting away with murder and all they could do not to crumble under the weight of Laurel, Wes' and Annelise's expectations were cling to each other.

"Move over," Connor says, tapping her knee in an impatient way which causes her to smack him with the pages of handouts in her hand and shift to make such a small space, on the small ratty sofa in her apartment, that his right side is pressed against her in a comforting way. He's noticed that they always sit or stand next to each other; touching. They are unusually attached to each other and it should make his skin crawl but he clings to it; spending most nights crashing on her couch or letting himself in with a spare key she keeps on the ledge above her door.

Michaela leans forward, her computer screen brightly lit and her forehead wrinkled in a cute way (not that he'd ever admit that to her) "You know what we should do?"

Michaela groans and slumps back on the too many throw pillows that clutter her sofa "Don't say it," She begs. Connor beams at her, his disposition way too beguiling for her taste. Michaela twirls her ponytail nervously and he challenges her with his eyes.

They stand at the same time and walk towards each other, passing each other. Michaela goes to her storage closet, rifling through with considerable concentration and Connor throws all her throw pillows on the floor and goes to the kitchen to procure a bottle of wine and two glasses.

Michaela puts the board game on the floor and a frown tugs on the edge of Connor's mouth. "No scramble?"

"You make up your own words,"

"You cheat in monopoly. It's only fair," He retorts, folding himself into a sitting position and pouring the wine.

Michaela looks taken aback. "It's a bank… I'm entitled to a loan." She takes the glass he offers and sips slowly.

They spend almost two hours drinking, giggling and (Mostly Michaela) squealing when her unsteady hands cause the buzzer to sound.

"Good thing you're becoming a lawyer, not a surgeon." The dark haired boy laughs into his glass.

"I still win," She says, feeling too warm and happy. She puts down her empty glass and goes to choose a movie. They settle on Resident Evil because Michaela appreciates Milla Jovovich and Connor hums in approval at the action scenes.

They settle on the mountain of pillows, Michaela tucked into the crook on Connor's arm.

Connor would have never pegged Michaela as the action type girl. She seemed too put together to enjoy such brutality but he guessed that her Prom Queen persona could only hold up so long. She was just a regular girl underneath; who gets too little sleep, could barely function without her cup of coffee and sang out of tune to pop songs in the shower.

This codependency they've developed is their way of coping Connor knows. He wonder if they hadn't helped in a murder if they would have ever been so close, almost inseparable.

They fall asleep before the end of the movie and in the morning, the sunlight streaming through Michaela's windows wake her up. She's alone and when she looks around she sees a note on her side table reading. _You snore and you drooled on me. I made coffee and pancakes. See you soon._

Michaela rolls her eyes muttering "_I don't snore"_ to herself and smiles at his gesture. She thinks Connor is the closest friend she's ever had and whether she admits it or not, she's glad to have him in her life.


	4. This is what you wanted, right?

**Hi guys, it's been a while. I hadn't been feeling very inspired to write until half an hour ago when it just hit me and I wrote this. Please excuse any errors and let me know what you think. **

_**PS. I changed the rating of this fic. Rated M for adult situations and language.**_

**\- Nica **

* * *

_**This is what you wanted, right?**_

She had done what he had suggested and banged Asher, he should be pleased about it, right? Over the moon that Michaela had Asher fascinated with her pussy so much so that he had calmed down significantly, right?

He thought he was alright with it but when he had walked into the bathroom of Annalise's house to Michaela on her knees; her slender hands gripping doucheface's hips so hard that she was leaving the normally pale skin red and her watery eyes looking up at doucheface's expression of ecstasy as she deepthroated the hell out of his cock, Connor's world spun. It was one thing knowing it was happening but another to bear witness to his friend's...activities.

A normal person would have slammed the door shut and pretended he didn't see anything but Connor stood in the doorway gaping. Michaela was the first to notice and she was unhurried to release doucheface's member; doing so with an audible 'pop'. When she got to her feet, she said something to doucheface because he spun away from the door with a "Fuck" and promptly stuffed himself back into his khakis.

Michaela exited the bathroom, wiping the corner of her mouth before giving Connor a smirk. Doucheface exited next, putting his hand on Connor's shoulder "Not cool man,"

He was perfectly fine with it, he rationalized, everyone deserved to get laid.

That is until the murder gang had been watching a scary movie over at Doucheface's apartment and a particularly gruesome scene came on; he reflexively reached for Michaela knowing she normally hid her face in his shoulder until the scene ended and was rewarded with an empty space. She had scooted around to burrow herself under Doucheface's arm and Connor watched a bit unbelievingly as Doucheface pressed a kiss to her head. He knows her hair smells like tropical fruit because she changed her shampoo a few months ago and there's a sinking feeling in his stomach because that's their thing; he'd tease her about being a little baby but still stroke her hair and enjoy the scent of her shampoo.

Connor grinds his teeth and snuggles into Oliver, determined not to watch the couple next to him anymore.

**####**

"If I didn't know any better I'd say you were jealous,"

"Excuse me?" Connor starts and spits his coffee back into his mug instead of swallowing the dark liquid.

"Of Asher and Michaela," Laurel replies easily, not looking away from her tablet.

"What? No. Why would I be?"

"Because I notice things Connor. Like before they started..." She makes a face of a mixture of confusion and disgust before looking at Connor "doing whatever it is they're doing, when Michaela was upset she'd turn to you or lean into you and you'd hug her or hold her hand and rub circles on the back of her hand. And you'd do this weird thing where when Michaela moved, especially when she was highly emotional, you'd move so you're never more than 10 paces from her. It always looks to me like she's the Earth and you're the moon revolving around her. But it seems like she has another satellite now and... the Earth doesn't really need another moon."

Connor scoffs, looking down at his coffee and scowling. Laurel gives him a little smile at his silence.

"You can't tell me that I'm wrong,"

"You are wrong about one thing," Connor says "She's more like the sun"

Laurel smirks at his retreating back.

**####**

Connor's fever dreams were not the vivid colours of his childhood. They did not swirl in the colours of the rainbow, mixing and creating new vibrancies and forming parties behind his eyelids. His dreams were various shades of black and white, streaking through his mind and making his temples throb.

Various images of him as a kid; enjoying his mom's chicken noodle soup flashed by then a pock faced teenage version of himself getting his first car and losing his virginity in the backseat flashed through his mind. The images warped themselves leaving impressions of Michaela, seeing her on the first day of class to seeing her hair up for the first time and thinking that the delicate curve of her neck was pretty to seeing her with Asher and feeling disappointment tug at him relentlessly to fantasies of her long, dark legs wrapped around his waist and her nimble fingers running through his hair. The thought of leaving finger impressions on her thighs as he dipped his tongue inside of her has him gasping.

Connor's eyes open, dispelling the visions but an imprint is seared on his brain. He blinks rapidly, pushing the layers of sheets off his damp body and pushes his damp hair away from his face. His fever has broken but he feels weak and basically like shit.

"Oh, you're awake," Her voice comes as if his thoughts had conjured her. He subtly starts but regains composure and looks to the door. She was carrying a tray, steam wafted off the bowl.

"How do you feel?" He doesn't reply and she shrugs, putting down the tray and pressing her palm against his forehead.

She shrugs "Well your fever's gone but you probably still feel like you look,"

"Ouch," He chuckles weakly.

"I made you chicken noodle soup from scratch, my mom used to make it for me when I was sick and I used to make it from my little siblings when they were sick. Pratt tested and approved." She smiles at him, urging him to try to eat.

She keeps talking as he tries the soup and he's glad because he doesn't know much about her family, "My siblings are twins and until they were about 11, they were inseparable so they'd always get sick together. It was my sister, Aliana, who got back her appetite as soon as she was over her illness but my brother, Adrian, kicked up a fuss to eat. My parents were no non-sense so their disapproval face was enough to get him to eat but with me he was a nightmare because he knew I wasn't as tough on them as our parents so I had to perform miracles for him to eat, figuratively speaking. I used to make aeroplane, car, train or a ton of other sounds for him to eat. It worked until he was around 8 and from then on I had to work harder."

She smiles at him when she's done talking and he thanks her; it was delicious.

"Connor should be back in a few minutes so as long as you don't need anything else, I should get going."

He wants to stop her and tell her he needs her but he's not sure that will go over too well and besides from the looks of the sparkly highlighter across her cheekbones and the deep red dress she has on, she has plans tonight that do not involve her babysitting him.

He holds her hand for a few beats too long when she offers him it and she smiles at him, "Don't worry, Oliver should be here soon, he just texted. He's probably already in the building."

Michaela kisses his temple and slips away into the dark hallway. His heart hurts for some reason, that's why he pretends to be asleep when Oliver returns because he can't explain his tears or why Michaela dating Doucheface makes him feel like she's stabbing him in his chest.

This was what he wanted..._right?_

* * *

**Reviews are love**


End file.
